


The Belmont Project

by Maesonry



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Cute Kids, David Cage Can Eat My Shorts, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Bonding, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Homelessness, Horror, Mental Health Issues, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suspense, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-07-10 08:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15945896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: In 196█, six adolescent boys and girls from Belmont Pines were selected to be given lobotomies. You were one of them. But years of abuse would not be dulled so easily, and you managed to escape, taking a six year old child named Laurie with you as you fled. In less than a week, a family known as the Strodes would adopt you both.Ten years later, the only one who remembers this secret history is you. But the past is persistent, and a Shape soon comes to haunt you both.Because the past can never be buried, only forgotten. And you never forget.





	1. They Come For You At Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! This will be a big one. Lots of research went into this, and by that I mean I researched as much as I could before I started crying. Rated for typical violence seen in these sorts of movies, BUT, I shy away from graphically describing them- I only do as much as I need to get the idea across. Hopefully you all enjoy reading the journey of Jodie as much as I enjoy writing it! The road to recovery isn't easy, but Jodie will get there.
> 
> Standard disclaimer: all locations, characters, and events (though inspired by reality), are strictly fictional.

"In 196█, six adolescent boys and girls were selected to participate in a study known as the Belmont Project..."

...

 

 

The morning wake-up call was always at eight. Never earlier, never later. You sat awake, but your eyes were glued on the window of your door. Sickly yellow lights flooded into your room, too bright, and they were never turned off. But you were waiting. A hint of darkness fell over your door, a shadow, stretched out.

“Wake up! Morning call!” the guard’s voice was cold and impersonal, ringing out down the hall as he went to each cell (or _room_ ) and rattled the door. Seven doors down, you read the shadow and echo, and you leaned till your back touched the wall, your hand knocking seven times. One gentle rasp was your reply from the room over. Time for them to hide blankets and bears. You didn't have anything to hide, but they did. So you helped them. 

Five seconds later, the guard stopped in front of your door. 

“Get up, Doe,” he commanded, succinct. You rustled fabric as through you were complying, and as he grunted and walked away, you stopped and closed your eyes. 

The next thirty minutes of this morning would decide the rest of your day. Or the rest of your week. Already, you could hear some of the other kids praying, tattered whispers that they hoped no one else would hear. You opened your eyes to the room, watching your breath linger in the air, and wondered if you should pray too. 

Davy Q from two doors down rasped something too quiet to make out, and his roommates made agreeing noises.. You cast a glance around your room, with only one bed, no others, and you wondered if you were lucky. Maybe you’d had roommates once, and couldn’t remember them. Names danced just out of reach. A lot of things were like that now. You strained your hearing to catch what Davy was talking about, and you were rewarded with a quiet plead, “Please bring food today.”

Knees to your chest, you hunched over. Food. That was as good a thing to pray for as any. The doctors never told anyone anything, but it was obvious enough to those who had been at Belmont Pines long enough: if you didn’t get food that morning, it meant you’d be taken for testing. Sometimes, there were exceptions, like revoked food as punishment, or a test that food didn’t interfere with. But it was usually always the same. So you made yourself small, and you stared pleadingly at the window of your door, into the bright hallway, and prayed quietly alongside Nancy K from across the hall.

 

  
Thirty minutes later, there was the sound of rusty wheels, of carts being pushed from room to room. The nurses were no better than the guards or the doctors, as they slid food into door slots, their faces masks of stoicism. They’d had years to learn to tune out the wailing, the screaming, as kids begged for food, to go home, anything. But they never begged for long, because then the nurse would get the guard. Skill was sobbing soundlessly in despair.

The nurses wheeled their casts, and the old wheels squeaked down the hall, and whatever little hope you held in your heart was smothered as the cart was taken past your cell without a pause. None today.

A part of you wanted to jump to the door, the plead for them to come back, to say that you’d been good and to please, please just stop the cart. But you didn’t. Quietly, like a good, obedient child, you laid your head down in your hands, and cried ugly, bitter tears. 

 

Thirty minutes later, heavy footsteps on tile echoed down the corridor. You blearily glanced up to the door, wincing at the sound, digging your hands deeper into the fabric of your shirt. They were coming. Your stomach churned with ice, throat closing shut, but you kept your face calm. Couldn’t show them that you were afraid. If you did, they’d make it last longer. Pretend to be the perfect test subject, and you could at least lie to yourself and say they might show mercy. And then, maybe if you were good enough, your family would finally come and take you back. 

The footsteps stopped in front of your cell. 

“JD!” The guard shouted, “Get up! It’s time to go!”

Better be quick. You dropped down from the bed, your bare feet landing on cold concrete. Everything was grey here, even your hair, even your clothes, and as you adjusted the braid on your shoulder, you couldn’t help but hold a lingering look at the window of your room. It was autumn outside. 

Ruthlessly, you tore your gaze away, and knocked on your cell door, letting to guard know you were ready. Even still, he took his time opening the door, and he had a hand on his baton, just in case.  
But that wasn’t what got your attention- it was always the same here. No, you noticed that he was holding a straight jacket. That meant today’s tests would hurt. 

“Arms up!” The guard barked. You wanted to resist, but that only meant more hurt. You remembered fighting before- when you young, maybe seven, and you’d been so angry, and upset, and now…

Wordlessly, you rose your arms. But as the guard slid the straightjacket on, you discreetly tensed your muscles, filled your lungs with as much air as you could. Your hands held small handfuls of the inner fabric of your sleeves. It wasn’t much, but it would give you extra room, and if you were desperate enough, it could help you get out. The guard roughly tied the sleeve of the jacket behind your back, cinching the strap, making sure it was secure, and after it was all said and done, he grabbed you by the arm and began to take (or drag) you down the hall. You could hear some of the other kids still in the cells shuffling, discreetly looking out the window as you were taken away, thinking, “ _Better you than me_ ,” and you couldn’t blame them. 

Abused concrete and slate grey soon gave way to polished linoleum and sterile white walls. Tiny icicles of fear swirled through your blood, pricking behind your eyes, but you pushed it down. When you were younger, they pretended it was a Science Club, that the tests were fun, like you were going to get superpowers. They’d stopped that a while ago (they probably didn’t care about the lie anymore), but it helped if you thought of it that way still. 

And you didn’t think about all the patients that had gone in here and never come back. At least, you tried.

“Dr. Smith!” the guard called, “I brought Doe! Where do you want ‘em?” 

You blinked uncomfortably, looking around the room. It had one window at the back, but that was it, the only spot of color in what looked like a glorified fishbowl. But as you shifted nervously, you caught sight of something worrying: there was a chair, reclined innocuously in the center. You glanced over to the guard, but his face betrayed nothing. Maybe he just didn’t know anything.

“Yes, yes, just leave it there. Or, oh- maybe put it in the chair, that would be helpful,” the doctor replied back. The guard grunted noncommittally, and began to take you to the chair. But you didn’t want to go. A bad, terrible, panicky feeling was exploding from your gut, warning of danger. You began to struggle. 

“No,” you resisted, digging your heels into the tile in a futile attempt to stop, “No, wait, what’s going to happen, what’s going on, no-”

“I don’t have all day, JD!” the guard growled, “Either you comply, or I make you.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you attempted, but allowed yourself to be dragged to the chair, and you wiggled your arms to test out how much leeway you had- maybe you could, could break the hold on the straightjacket, then get out from the window, or something, just- just not this, “ _You don’t have to do this._ ”

The guard didn’t even look at you. Just yanked you onto the chair, utterly devoid of care, or emotion, or any kind of remorse. _Better you than me_ , or maybe not even that. The worn, cracked leather stuck to your skin. Three straps: one around your torso, one for each leg, buckled loosely- more carelessness than compassion. And then, despite your begging, the guard left. And you were alone.

“I just want to go home…” you cried, quiet, pitiful and weak. You feebly tugged at your straightjacket, feeling it give, but lacking the strength to try and push any further. Because what would you do? Instead, you turned to stare mournfully out the window. Leaves swirled in the fitful breaths of fall. 

And you awaited your fate.

Time passed. You didn’t know how long, but maybe that was the point, as you were stuck in some kind of… purgatory. Waiting. Watching the trees lean back and forth. Counting each sound that you could barely hear.

And finally, they came for you.

The door opened. A handful of doctors entered, all dressed in stark white, all eyeing you like a scientific anomaly, an interesting development, their next research grant. The one in the middle, the one with the brown hair, you recognized him immediately. Dr. Smith. And Dr. Smith, who usually let his eyes slide past you as though you didn’t even exist, was now practically gleeful. You wanted to ask what was happening, but asking questions wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t do anything. Whispered fragments of conversation reached you.

“-absolutely fascinating case of-”

“-have you seen the Orbitoclast? I-”

“-one in three is more than good enough-”

But finally, Dr. Smith quieted them, “Everyone, please, calm. We will proceed with the surgery momentarily.”

But that was news to you, that you would be getting surgery? What kind? You hadn’t done anything wrong, you had complied with all their tests, and-

“Nurse, please, the tray cart?” Dr. Smith murmured, and there was one of the nurses, pushing a cart to the side of your chair. It had… something that looked like a small spear, something that looked like a slender hammer, both shining in metal and steel. A syringe, too, with an unlabeled bottle near it, but you knew that one well enough to recognize anesthesia. Dr. Smith approached the cart, while the others kept a professional distance away, all watching you with burning curiosity. 

“As you all likely already know, at Lanfrey-Graves, there was a demonstration of the benefits of psychosurgery. Of particular interest to me was the effects of this surgery on the minds of adolescent teenagers already afflicted with some past disorder, in order to document the cure,” Dr. Smith explained. The other doctors all nodded and hummed. He continued, “With that in mind, I was able to procure the tools you see here: an orbitoclast, commonly known as an ice pick, and a slim hammer of sorts. With these, Belmont Pines will perform its first Transorbital lobotomy!”

The crowd began to clap. In your chair, you began to quake. 

“Thank you. As you may see here, our first subject is an adolescent teenager, who will be referred to by the name of J0-D. The subject was diagnosed with aggressive childhood schizophrenia- a disorder I’m sure you all know well; a form of psychosis that will progress until it destroys an individual's personality,” as Dr. Smith spoke, he began to circle your chair, announcing each word, “It is characterized by reclusiveness, a lack of warmth or affection. They will display sullen hostility. They are poor sleepers, and prone to prolonged wakefulness at all hours of the night,” Dr. Smith stopped suddenly, pointing to you, “All of these, displayed in subject J0-D!”

All of the doctors gathered around began to erupt in a flurry of talking, heatedly exchanging information, and at the heart of it all, you thrashed. 

“A lobotomy is the only cure!” Dr. Smith assured. Your voice cracked.

“No!” you shouted, trying to break the cacophony of noise, make yourself heard, “No! You, you can’t do this! You don’t have to do this! Please, don’t, please- I didn’t do anything wrong! Stop!”

But the only response you received was the nurse readying the syringe. With a face devoid of any kind of mercy, she plunged the syringe into your shaking neck, and then…

Slowly, you stopped fighting. Slowly, your limbs grew heavy. Slowly, you stopped. Not quite sleeping, but not quite aware, and your eyes slid closed into the induced daze of anaesthesia dreaming.  
“Let’s begin…”

 

_No. Don’t do this..._

“A careful tap, to fracture the orbital bone…”

_I don’t deserve this._

"Sever the connections here, and h-"

“Doctor, the patient is starting to wake up.”

“Then inject them again.”

_This isn’t fair!_

“Doctor, I can’t, I-!”

“What-”

“ _No!_ ” your voice broke the darkness, and suddenly, frantically, you startled crawling from the depths of your own mind, tearing and ripping away the sleep, the haze, letting the boiling anger of rage push and destroy, until your eyes flew open, and you inhaled a desperate breath of air, “No!”

A doctor was looking down at you. You couldn’t remember his name, but you didn't care, not right now. His expression was surprised, and the nurse’s face was fear. A sharp pain in your right eye forced it closed, and you thrashed in your restraints.

“Nurse, get the anesthesia!” He shouted. And the nurse hurried to grab something, and you knew, in your chest, that you had to escape. Everything was a mess, a blur, but it propelled you. You flexed your arms and struggled, until, with a great roar of effort, you forced your arms from the hold of the straightjacket, the tied fabric coming undone, freed. 

You howled again, “Let me out!” and grabbed the strap on your chest, pulling on it; improperly secured, it didn’t stand a chance, the worn leather falling away. And then you were upright, but not quite, shoving and tossing yourself around, the other doctors in the room alternating between trying to hold you down and trying to get out. You managed to hit one in the throat as you fought, “Get away!”

The pain in your eye was almost excruciating now. You could feel blood on your face, could see it spilling slowly onto your chest, staining the straightjacket crimson. Whatever was in your eye, you wanted it _out_ , so with your free hand, you reached up- grabbing onto something metal, lodged into your brain. With a bellow of fury and pain, you yanked it out, one decisive motion, the sound disgusting, muffled. Too quickly, actually, the angle all wrong, because the pain in your flared, and you screamed, because you couldn’t even open it, something was wrong, and the blood was all over your arms, and the doctors were screaming too, none of them near you anymore. None but the first one, with the brown hair, and then nurse, with- with a syringe! She was right beside you now, poised to inject, must’ve come up when you were yanking whatever that thing was out of your head, and- and she was going to hurt you! She was going to make you disappear again!

“No!” You roared, “Never again!” and, you let the terror drive you, the deep-rooted desperation that clung to your heart, spilling together like blood in your rage, the desire to survive and escape and _live_. You swung your arm outwards, the instrument turned weapon in your hand, and you struck-! 

Right in her neck.

The nurse stared at you, stricken, and at that, the room seemed to go silent, as she grasped futilely at her throat, trying to get the metal out. Blood, vibrantly red, surged in a silent trickle. Slowly, her struggles ceased, and then her eyes rolled back, and she too fell back, going limp, falling to the ground. You still held the metal pick in your hand. One second, of your heaving breathing, of realization, before the room erupted in panic and terror. But not from you. Instead, your eyes narrowed, and for once in your life, you felt something you’d never felt before: control. With decisive movements, you broke the restraints on your legs, and swung yourself from the chair. You turned to the doctors in the room. 

“Open the door!” the one with brown hair demanded, “Open the door!”

They wouldn’t be leaving here alive. None of them would.

It took only thirty minutes for you to kill them, like the dogs they were. Thirty minutes, where they begged, pleaded, and you couldn’t help but remember how _you_ had pleaded, had begged, how they had laughed and smiled as they hurt you more. If they expected to be spared now, they were wrong. Thirty minutes was a mercy for that they’d done to you. 

And then you staggered out into the hall, covered in blood, your head throbbing, one hand held to your right eye as you stumbled. You couldn’t think straight, and everything hurt, and you couldn’t remember certain things now- they were wispy and intangible, replaced only by anger. You knew you had to escape. But you couldn’t remember the faces of your family- or their names. You couldn’t remember the people in the other cells. It was like a part of you had been yanked out. 

But, escaping was a good a goal as any. Escape. Get out, and even if you couldn’t remember the way out anymore, that didn’t matter. You would get out, and you’d kill everyone in your way if you had to-

“No,” you hissed, “That’s not right. That’s bad,” and you slammed a fist into the wall, demanding focus. You wouldn’t kill everyone. Only, only people who deserved it. You didn’t want to hurt anyone, but you had to, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t control who. You could control yourself. You _would_. 

So, down the hall you went. And you went. Occasionally, other kids in cells would call out to you, and you’d prop open the door, let them out, and then they’d go help the others, as you walked away. Other times, guards would try to stop you, and on your own they might be dangerous, but suddenly you had a following, and they too had weapons- makeshift, or stolen, it didn’t matter. The guards that tried to stop you all didn’t last for long. And the guards that didn’t try to stop you, you let them go. 

The other kids weren’t so kind in their mercy. 

You kept walking. Eventually, you made it to what someone named Nancy assured was an exit. It was also right next to the doctors lounge and offices. 

Something about hearing the doctors and the guards die was… unsettling. You didn’t like how it made you feel. You left the others, then, because it was making some strange bloodlust burn in your heart, and that made you feel wrong. One of the side rooms, you took refuge in, closing the door behind yourself and shaking in the darkness. A coat closet. You hunched over, looking around- your other eye wasn’t bleeding anymore, one of the others had given you a bandage to put in the… socket. It hurt, but you ignored it. But you couldn’t ignore the way your hands trembled, and you felt like you were going to throw up. 

You wanted to cry, but you couldn’t. It would only make it worse. Crying always made things worse.

But… but, then, you heard sniffling. Crying. Someone else was here, crying instead of you. You rose your head up, glancing around in the darkness of the room, and then you noticed one of the coats in the corner moving, Trembling. 

As quietly and slowly as you could, you lowered yourself down, pausing to slide the ice pick into a makeshift holder, and extending your hand. With a voice low, you called out, “Hello?” and you were rewarded with the movement intensifying. You tried again, getting closer, “Are you okay?” because that seemed like the thing to ask. But it didn’t work, and you stopped, before finally finding the right thing to say, “I won’t hurt you, I promise,” because that was a promise you could keep.

And the trembling, gradually, stopped. Almost gingerly, you pulled the coat back. A little girl greeted you. With your one good eye, you blinked in surprise.

“Hello,” you finally greeted, and then awkwardly added, “What’s your name? Are you hurt?”

The girl stared up at you with wide, fearful eyes, although the fear was ebbing away by the second, replaced by curiosity. You became acutely aware of… well, your everything, from your white hair, to the now messy braid, the blood that covered your jacket, your scratchy voice. The young girl couldn’t have been more than six or seven, by the looks of it, with dark blond hair, and dirtied clothes. She must have decided that she liked you, because she finally spoke.

“My name is Laurie,” she replied. She stumbled over her words for a moment, “Are you a bad-guy?”

That caused you to flinch, “No! No. I, I’m good,” and your voice sounded oddly strained, almost pleading. Laurie just nodded. An odd sort of silence descended then, as you could barely pick out the sounds of screaming in the distance, and that caused something in your gut to churn. Laurie’s face twisted. 

“I don’t have a mommy or a daddy anymore,” Laurie decided to whisper, breaking the false quiet. 

“Me neither,” you frowned. Then, you glanced over, tugging your knees to your chest, “Did they bring you here? Did they leave you? Why?”

Too many questions. Laurie just looked at you and, well, suddenly she looked like she’d cry, “There was a big truck, and our car was really small.”

You’d just gone and made a little girl cry. Oh no. Panicked, you reached over, and then used your least-bloodied arm to give Laurie a hug. And after a moment, Laurie calmed down, and hugged back.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. 

“It’s okay…” Laurie sniffled, then pulled back, sitting back down onto the ground. She stared up at the coats, “I’ve never had a big sister before. Are you- can you be my sister?”

What a… weird question. But you found yourself nodding instead of saying that, “I’ve never had a little sister. I don’t think.”

Laurie yanked a little on the coat sleeve in her hand, pulling it down. It landed and covered you, and you made to shove it off, but you didn't. Instead, a tiny, insistent idea began to form. If you didn't have a family, and Laurie didn't have a family, but now you were family together... that dragged up memories from your life, before. Of people looking out for one another. Of feeling safe, and happy, no matter where or what, because they were together. Slowly, you began to speak. 

“Family takes care of each other,” you remembered, and gradually, your face turned righteous. After some struggle, you managed to put the jacket on, and looked over at Laurie, “We, we can’t stay here. We have to find somewhere to go. But, family takes care of each other. We’ll take care of each other.”

A few moments, as Laurie processed what you’d said, and then she smiled big, wide, a few teeth missing, “Okay!” and she stood up, scurrying to find a jacket for herself. As she picked one out that was only a little big, she nodded decisively, “Just like in books.”

You grabbed a pair of shoes, too, fumbling with the shoelaces for a moment before giving up. Then, you extended your hand to Laurie. She reached out to grab it, but hesitated.

“What’s your name?” she asked, curious. You opened your mouth… and paused. 

“Jo...D.”

“Okay, Jodie,” Laurie sang, finally grabbing your hand. You blinked. Jodie? That… that was a nice name, You’d never had a real name before. You decided you liked it.

And so, you and Laurie left the room, and after a minute, left the building too. To a new life.


	2. Fluorescent and Brick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with fanart! [ It can be found here](https://66.media.tumblr.com/000db91b13284bacda001aa44fbd48d0/tumblr_pgp4awjdRp1vzzr19o1_1280.jpg), [ and a different version here. ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/f692f68d2fb256169c3435318b1ecd07/tumblr_pgp4awjdRp1vzzr19o2_1280.jpg)

The hours of the day began to bleed together, daylight blurring with every step. The forest overhead provided some momentary relief with shade, branches that leaned down, leaves shuffling. It was warm outside, the dying vestiges of summer making way for autumn breezes, trees just starting to peak with flickers of gold and red. Animals and insects muttered and murmured, bird’s shrill screams, all muffling the sound of your footsteps in the dirt. Your tread was heavy and slow, constrained to keep up with Laurie; her footsteps were soft, but decisive. The noise of the forest seemed to swallow you both whole.

“Jodie,” Laurie asked, her voice quiet but audible, falling in between the chirps of crickets and calls of birds. You blink-blinked, then turned your head to look down at her. She looked unflinching at your face, just curious, “your shoes are untied.”

You stopped. Laurie tugged at and then released your hand, while you stared at your shoes, “You’re right,” you said, voice awkward and rough, and you continued to stare at the laces. Minutes or seconds passed. Laurie looked worried.

“I don’t know how,” you finally stated. The admission made you feel… distressed. Why didn’t you know how to tie your shoes? Had you known before? You grasped feebly at your memories, digging to the very beginning, remembering… nothing. The dam that had blocked the words in your mind _before_ was gone, torn away early in that surgery room, and now you couldn’t stop talking even if you wanted to, “They didn’t, they didn’t let us have shoelaces. At Belmont,” it had always been a stupid rule. 

Laurie, sharp past her time, didn’t ask if you never knew how, if they took that knowledge away from you. Instead, she yanked a little on your sleeve, and asked, “Can I help?”

“Yes,” you replied, and your voice was colored with a touch of desperation. You wanted to know, suddenly and absolutely gripped by all you couldn’t know before, now open; everything Belmont Pines had taken from you, and now you were free, to choose and to learn. Your mind, tattered and unorganized, demanded you start learning _now_ , “Yes, please.”

Laurie nodded once, before crouching down, and taking both laces into her hands. You leaned over to stare intently at the shoelaces, and she began to speak, showing you each step. 

“First, we do this….” she stated, and slowly, she showed you how to tie a knot. She repeated it about two more times, and it was… clumsy. But it was also perfect. It looked like a ball of twine, and your attempt was even worse, but you’d done it. The little mess of laces looked like victory. And victory tasted like copper.

Or maybe that was your eye bleeding. You reached up to touch it, to make sure, prodding lightly at the gauze, and found yourself unpleasantly surprised that it was, yes, bleeding. Maybe it was because of the sharp pain in your head, throbbing behind your eyes. Laurie looked at you in worry.

“We gotta find a doctor,” she decided. But then, you yanked your hand away quickly, and flinched away from her.

“No doctors,” you rasped, that same feeling of frozen icicles in your veins, pushing outwards, your remaining eye darting around, and-

“Ok,” Laurie said, and she didn’t bring it up again. Instead, she reached up to grab your free hand, and then you both began to walk once more, this time in a comfortable silence. You hoped she didn’t notice that your other hand was holding tight to the ice pick, and you couldn’t stop looking around, afraid that some guard or doctor would… appear from a tree, smiling grimly. You hoped she didn’t notice. You were strong, you just needed time. And another bandage for your eye. But that wasn’t, wasn’t important right now. What was important was… getting Laurie somewhere safe. Because you were family.

“A town,” your voice sounded thick, “There’s a town nearby. I remember,” and you _remembered_ , nevermind that you couldn’t remember anything else, and you clung feverishly to even that little scrap of memory, “Through the forest. We can go there, before it gets dark. We’ll get there.”

Laurie looked at you sheepishly, “I’m hungry,” she added. And then you were acutely aware that you were hungry too, that you hadn’t even had breakfast. Laurie laughed, and it was then that you realized you were pulling a face, scrunched up and unpleasant. So food. And shelter. You held Laurie’s hand carefully, dredging up the memory of where the town would be, and beginning to walk in the direction. 

Hours or minutes later, after the sun had wobbled across the horizon, the town broke the treeline. It didn’t have a name, at least not right now, but that didn’t matter and wasn’t important. The buildings were small and tidy, weathered by time and age, but not decrepit by any means. They seemed homey, for lack of a better word, and despite that you couldn’t quite grasp why you felt that why, the feeling remaining stubbornly lodged like a paste. You frowned and rubbed uncomfortably at your forehead.

“Jodie, look,” Laurie tugged at your hand, leaning forward, “Look!” pointing towards… something. It was another building, much like all the others, all brick and green and warm fading lights out the front. 

“I don’t understand,” you squinted, brushing some of the old, crusty blood from your face, “What is it?”

Laurie giggle-snorted, finally succeeding in dragging you towards it, “It’s a grocery store!” and you allowed yourself to be taken towards it, before a dull throb in your head stopped you, and you stopped Laurie with a careful movement.

“Wait,” your voice was gravely, “don’t we need…” the word was stuck, the concept intangible, and you grappled with it for a moment before you forced it out, “money.”

A pause. Laurie glared balefully at the store, before turning and rummaging around in the pockets of her jacket. You blinked, then slowly, proceeded to follow her, sticking your hands into the pockets of your coat, feeling around for anything that the previous owner might have left. Your hands fumbled with a thick square of some material, and you pulled it out, eyeing it with disdain mixed with curiosity. Laurie, though, her eyes went wide, and she smiled.

“I found a paperclip,” she confessed, making grabby motions for the Thing you’d found, and you allowed her to take it, watching as she opened it up and began to poke and prod at the green paper within. Money. She held a fistful out, “Food now?”

You nodded, “Ok,” and used the sleeve of your straightjacket to scrub some more dried blood and dirt from your face. Laurie grabbed your other hand, putting the square and the money away, and forward you both went. The outside lights of the store were warm, and dulled out the other colors, big windows on the front that leaked out fluorescent, spilling a faded blue across the sidewalk. You could see the inside, barely, could see shelves and what must have been a hundred thousand different things that sat on them. The double doors stood before you, and for a moment, you hesitated- but then Laurie walked inside, so you followed.

It was… smaller on the inside. Sharply polished tiles of the floor, arranged in some unknown pattern, reflecting the lights above, reflecting your face as you peered down at them. Laurie took them in jumps, from one square of color to another, while your eye rotated to look at the shelving, to the walls, taking it in. There wasn’t anyone else around, except for one person, standing sentinel behind a counter, eyes unfocused with sleep and boredom. Not a threat. Your gaze snapped back to Laurie, as she hefted a basket above her head.

“Use this to carry stuff,” she offered, and you accepted, the plastic cool but somewhat clammy. You cleared your throat as you stared at a bright pink bag of… something.

“There’s a lot of stuff,” you noted. Laurie’s eyes twinkled with glee or amusement, and she reached up to grab one of the bags, her hand hovering a few inches from it.

“Can I?” she asked, looking over to you, hesitant, asking for clarification. You blinked.

“Yes,” because why not? Laurie chucked a few of them into the basket, and you let your stare linger on the packaging, at the yellow shards, “What is this?” you croaked, prodding expressionlessly at one of them. Laurie’s head tilted and she quickly grabbed one, holding it up with enthusiasm.

“Chips!” she chirped, pointing at the yellow shards- the chips. Her finger poked at them a few times to emphasize her point, “I, I wasn’t allowed to eat them,” she frowned a little, looking askew, before poking hard one final time, with triumph, “But now I can!”

If anything, now you were staring at the chips even harder. They didn’t let her eat them? Whoever they were, it didn’t matter. If they said Laurie couldn’t, you’d make sure she could. Anyone who would try to control either of you again was dead meat. You growled, “Yes, you can,” and then, with an air of defiance, plucked another bag off the shelves and into the basket. Laurie jittered with excitement, and you leveled a look at her, “The others. Other things you couldn’t have,” you looked back over to the rest of the store, “Where? We’ll get them.”

As if it was possible, Laurie looked like you were some kind of saint, “Ok! Ok!” she squeaked, nearly flying away into the store, stopped only by you croaking a, “Wait.”

“You’ll have to… tell me what they are,” you admitted, “I don’t know things.”

“That’s okay Jodie!” Laurie assured, and this time she stepped back, no longer about to bolt, staying beside you, “I’ll help.”

And so, for however much time it was, Laurie and you canvased the store, the basket gradually filling up. Laurie put in popcorn, and jello, and pudding, and different cereals- and then you had to stop to take a breather, because there was just so much- and then there was different kinds of candy, and gum, and things you hadn’t ever even seen mixed with things you barely remembered or remembered so strongly it made your teeth ache. On some barely parsed instinct, you made Laurie pick out some fruit. Fruit was… healthy, right? 

And eventually, you both finally wound down, the basket having grown heavy and your chest starting to twinge with pangs of exhaustion. Laurie, too, was starting to flag, her exuberance fading. It wasn’t long after that that you both went to the front to checkout. One whole basket of food, a medical kit, and a backpack to carry everything. On a whim, you placed a pair of scissors in the basket too. The employee stared blankly at the both of you.

“Huh,” was all he said, as he began to swipe everything through some kind of scanner. Laurie scurried down to the other end, packing all of the food into the backpack, while you glared at the wallet (wallet, Laurie had said) in your hand. Glaring was easy. 

“Here’s your total,” the man pointed dispassionately at a small set of numbers. You dug out however much that was, and after a moment of struggling, eventually just slid the entire wallet over to him. He blinked once, before taking out the right amount himself, and putting it into the register, handing you back the wallet. You nodded once.

“ _Say thank you!_ ” Laurie’s tiny voice hissed from nearby. You cleared your throat.

“Thank you.”

The man just stared blankly, before nodding, “Yeah,” then he glanced between Laurie and you, “Have a good night.”

Laurie’s smile was radiant, and she heaved the backpack off the counter, handing it to you. You slid it onto your back, and put the wallet back into a pocket, before taking Laurie’s hand in yours. With careful steps, you both exited the store, the dim lights fading as you walked into the night. And it was night, now. There was a moon and everything. You looked up at it, but then, your eye skidded to a stop as you found yourself lost in the hundreds of thousands of small lights twinkling in the sky. Stars. And for a moment, you were frightened, because if you looked away they would be gone, until you realized- this was your life now. You had control. You could look at the stars for a hundred years if you wanted to, and no doctor would try and stop you. So with a small smile, you managed to slide your gaze away, and you scanned the town. Somewhere to sleep. You racked your memory, but it didn’t give you anything, so helplessly, you turned to Laurie.

She seemed to sense your question, because she yawned, and pointed, “A motel,” while you followed the path of her finger, landing on another building of brick, small at the front and long near the back, many doors. A brilliant sign spoke ‘Open!’ and flashed occasionally. A motel, then, that would work. You and Laurie began to trudge forward, but after a few minutes, you opted to offer your shoulders to Laurie, picking her up. Her arms clutched around the top of your head, while you continued to purposely stalk towards the motel. 

“I’m tired,” Laurie reminded, her legs dangling near your chest, “Are we there yet?”

“Soon,” your gruff voice promised, as you opened the door to the motel. The single employee at the counter looked startled. Maybe you were startling, bruised, bloodied, carrying a kid, but you didn’t care. You extracted the money triangle wallet _whatever_ and placed it on the counter extremely gently. 

“One room,” you politely demanded. The employee extracted the money at a rapid speed, and then said some words about checkout time, and handed you a key, while you nodded, the words slipping out of your head the moment they were gone. It wasn’t important. You took back your wallet, and now the key, and nodded once, “Thanks,” and then you were gone walking out. Laurie giggle-snorted quietly.

“You scared him,” she whispered, finding it funny, but then a pause, “that’s not nice.”

Your expression twisted into… regret, “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again,” because a part of you was happy that you’d scared them. And that wasn’t very nice, was it? No, you’d try harder next time. 

After a few minutes, you found the right room- with Laurie’s help. The door was pushed open, and you looked over the room with a critical eye. Worn carpet, dark walls, a bathroom off to the side, a small television, and one bed, a chair pushed into corner. You leaned down to let Laurie off your shoulders, and then you took off the backpack, dropping it onto the edge of the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, you sat down next to it.

“It’s soft,” you stated, surprised, but also informing Laurie, in case she would be as excited about that as you felt. You bounced a few times, smiled, and Laurie scuttled up next to you after a moment, standing, raising her arms as she prepared to jump. You tilted your head, and she stopped, interpreting it as negative.

“Can I jump?” her eyes were imploring. A pause, before you stood up on the bed too, and with one great heave, jumped into the air. Laurie hollered with joy as she followed, and then, even you were laughing, because it was _fun_. You got the distinct idea that it was something Laurie was denied before, and by who didn’t matter, because you were both doing it now, and like the stars, no one would take it away. 

It didn’t take long for you both to get tired again. Laurie ended her jump by plopping herself down on her back, staring at the ceiling, and you landed on your feet on the floor with a thump. You grabbed the bag of food, and then dumped it out onto the bed. Laurie groped around for something, and you watched in fascination as she closed her fist around a bag of chips and banana, and brought it up to her face without even looking, opening them both up and proceeding to eat in the most messy and lazy way possible. You weren’t going to be the one to tell her she couldn’t. Instead, you turned to the bathroom, medical kit and scissors in hand, and you closed the door partially behind yourself. 

The mirror stared back at you. You stared back at you. Your hair was still in the braid, but strands flying everywhere, the ends crusted with red and brown, the white stained. The bandage wrapped around your head was matted with blood You tilted your head around, and frowned, before opening up the medical kit. Gauze. Bandages. You pulled them out, and set them on the sink counter, your fingers ghosting the scissors. Your single eye swiveled back to look at your hair, and you rose a hand, touching it. 

You’d always hated having long hair.

Up, the scissors went. First you cut through the bandage, letting it fall down, and then you grabbed at the base of the braid, holding it out, staring. Then, one decisive motion, and you sliced through it, letting the whole thing fall into the sink. Driven by resentment, and years of oppression, you began to grab at other pieces, things still long, and snip them away, until… until you stopped, and set down the scissors, hands gripping the sides of the sink. You looked up.

A strange new face greeted you in the mirror. Hair still white, but now shorter, much shorter, almost wild, not even touching your shoulders. It felt liberating. You smiled through the pain, because without the bandage, your ruined eye was throbbing, and there was still blood, and you knew that you should’ve tended to your face first, but for the first time in years, you felt free. With careful hands, you began to tear into the medical supplies, cleaning the blood off your face with water and then the sharp tang of antiseptic. The water in the sink was dirty now, as you worked quietly, setting the gauze into place, wrapping the bandage around, tucking the hair to hide it. You didn’t know if your eye would ever heal, but it wasn’t important. No doctors. You still had one eye, so it didn’t matter, you’d be fine. The rest of the medical supplies were packed back away, the scissors going with it, and then you even had enough strength left to smile at yourself in the mirror before you left the bathroom.

Laurie looked to be passed out on the bed. You took extra care to be quiet, focusing, noiselessly setting down the rest of the supplies and closing the curtains. Laurie had at least placed the banana into the empty chips bag. Distantly, you knew you were hungry, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to try and eat anything. Maybe tomorrow. Instead, you padded over to the chair in the corner of the room, making to sit down.

“Jodie?” Laurie’s voice. You stopped, and she shuffled around under the covers, before peering at you in the darkness, “Tell me a story?”

You didn’t know any stories. You didn’t think you ever had. But Laurie wanted one, so you sat down on the edge of the bed, thinking, trying to come up with one. Finally, after deliberation, after stringing together memories and words like patchwork, you spoke.

“Once upon a time,” because every good story started like that, some distant instinct assured, “there was a creature, who lived in a castle. And it was a nice creature, and the castle was safe. But one day, the creature… accidentally hurt the king. So the queen sent the creature far away into a dungeon.”

Laurie gasped theatrically.

“And the creature… was stuck in the dungeon for many years. S- it, it was surrounded by other creatures. And sometimes the guards were mean. They hurt the creatures,” and your eye throbbed at that, but you rallied on, “Until one day, a girl- who was a knight, because she was very brave, entered the dungeon. And when the creatures all broke out, the knight was not afraid, and she befriended the nice creature from earlier. It and she were very happy together, and so they left the dungeon, and went to adventure. They went in… in search of a home,” you trailed off. You couldn’t think of anything more to add.

“Did they find it?” Laurie asked, voice small.

“I don’t know.”

Silence over the room, before Laurie spoke again, this time her voice assured, “They will,” and then she shuffled again, laying back down, sleepy, “Goodnight, Jodie.”

You should’ve went back to the chair and slept there for the night, better to keep watch, but instead, you laid down, on the edge of the bed, and closed your eyes too, “Goodnight, Laurie.”

And if her words bounced around your head, the positive belief of, “they will”, then, well, it didn’t matter. No one would know. And no one would know that you clung to that promise harder than any belief or word you’d ever known before. You’d find a home. You would.


	3. The Long Road Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally kicking the plot up

Finding a home was easy to say but harder to do, especially when you didn’t know what a home meant. After that night at the motel, Laurie and you set off, as you sought to put some distance between the both of you and Belmont Pines. Which meant, lots of walking, trudging down highways and through forests, spending time in towns when you could but constantly cautious. You were always on edge, waiting for some doctors to appear, armed with needles and tools, but they never did. No one tried to stop you; it was as if you didn’t exist. So soon walking became riding buses, when you figured out how the bus system worked, and then, achieving distance was easy. But you were running, and you knew it, and while you were prepared to run for your entire life if you needed, Laurie couldn’t. She was young- and not that you weren’t young, but you couldn’t keep this up forever. And especially not with autumn’s chill creeping closer and closer each day. 

Night was fast approaching. It was barely twilight, with the sun having set but the moon still refused to rise. And it was another night of walking, this time, towards a bus stop. The stars were out, shining slightly, and it might’ve been enchanting, except for the cold, biting your exposed face and neck. You huffed, your breath fogging into the air, and then you glanced down at Laurie, making sure the scarf was still wrapped around her, that her hat was on. And you were most definitely paranoid, because you’d done it for the past half hour of walking, and Laurie caught you this time.

“Are you cold?” you asked, voice scratchy. In the near silence of the side of the road, the only other sound was you both walking, of your heavy tread in the dirt, fabric rustling, and Laurie’s runny nose. 

“No,” she shook her head, “‘m fine,” and then she sniffed again, while your face warbled with guilt. You wanted to say, ‘just one more bus,’ but you’d said that the last few times, and maybe it was worse that each time, Laurie believed you. 

“Are you tired?” you asked instead. Laurie looked over to you, and then nodded, her eyes droopy, looking small in the clothes that swallowed her whole. You crouched down, and in a familiar move, offered your shoulders to Laurie, who clambered up with a brief struggle, scuffing the backpack. After a few more moments, you stood up, while Laurie relaxed. And then you were walking again, towards the bus stop, because you just had to keep going, one more bus, one more town, and then you could stop. You promised yourself that, and you almost believed it too. 

The bus stop grew closer. Your single eye picked out the shape of a person, sitting on the bench, waiting. It made your skin prickle. But, but you’d gotten better about being around people, and you’d take agitation over panic any day. And maybe one day agitation would become vague unease. So you approached the bench with determination, and the familiar weight of the icepick nestled in your coat pocket. Your right eye itched, and you resisted the urge to prod it, instead letting out a huff and trudging the rest of the way, until you were only a few steps away from the stranger. And he was a stranger, but he looked about as familiar as any other homeless person you’d met. He had a beard. He looked tired. 

Homeless Man met your gaze, and you glared in challenge as his eyes flicked up to Laurie, and he rose an eyebrow, before looking back to you. Your bones felt like they were humming with anxious energy, but you just stood there, and then gruffly turned to face the road. 

You were a little unhappy when he started talking.

“You a vet?” the man asked. Your mind dug around for ‘vet’ and it gave you a clunky explanation that didn’t really help. And you didn’t owe this stranger anything- and that was new, a novelty, no one could force you to tell the truth, that you were only a teenager- so you just nodded, the movement lightly jostling a sleepy Laurie. You could feel him look to your bandaged eye, and then more silence, digging under your skin the way it always did. 

“That your kid?” Homeless Man prodded. People were too friendly. They talked too much. You mulled the words in your mouth, then responded.

“Sister,” and that was all you said. And he made a noise of acknowledgement. The wind curled around your face, cold. If Laurie was awake, she’d tell you to be nice, so you pressed your lips together and spoke, unhappy, but that didn’t really matter.

“Know when the bus’ll get here?” your eye slid over to him, and the question was clunky and awkward, but he didn’t mention it. That was nice.

“Three minutes. Going to Youngstown,” and then he was quiet too. You didn’t ask where Youngstown was, because that wasn’t important. It was just far away, and that was good enough for you.

And true to his word, in around two minutes, you could see a bus slowly driving along the road, its lights breaking the quickly settling shadows of dusk, the sound of rumbling tires almost familiar now, almost reassuring, but in another guilty way. You jostled Laurie slightly.

“Come on,” and then you helped her off your shoulders, making sure her hat was still on, her scarf still wrapped secure. The man cleared his throat, gravelly with old smoke.

“You’re running from something, ain’t you?” his question was sharp, burrowing. Something from experience, “but you can only run so far.”

And then the bus pulled up, and you brought Laurie on so you could get a seat at the back, and helped Laurie into the seat, and you sat down, and… and then, for some reason, you couldn’t get those words out of your head. Over and over, you flipped them around, and looked at them, and tore them to pieces. Running from something. But you can only run so far. Only so far.

“What does that even mean?” you snarled, but quietly, so you didn’t disturb Laurie. You’d been working on that. A blink, as you refocused, and saw that the bus was moving, had been moving for a while, and there really wasn’t anyone else on it, except for you, Laurie, and-

And the stranger.

With a sudden drive, you stood out of your seat, and began to stalk towards the homeless man. You walked until you were towering behind him, your face wreathed in dim shadow and shoddy lights.

“What did you mean?” you demanded. He jumped, a little, and your chest swelled with vicious pride- until you stuffed it down, replaced with a reprimanding guilt, as you made your glare smooth out and your face _less_ angry. You even apologized, “Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” he finally managed after a few wheezes. He picked up something he’d dropped, some wood he’d been… sharpening? Then he gestured to the open space opposite him, You sat down mechanically, politely placing your palms on your legs to show you wouldn’t try and attack him, and then continued to stare, waiting patiently. After a few minutes of repetitive sharpening, the homeless man spoke. His voice sounded like dry leaves.

“Not much else to say,” a few more scraps of wood were shucked to the ground, “I know. What it’s like, to run. Seen it. Done it,” he paused, looked out the window, let his lips curl up in a fond smile that quickly soured, “Running is easy. But it’s addicting. Makes you never want to stop,” and then, his head turned to you. He fixed you with a look, “But you can’t run forever. The road will eat you up and never let you go.”

Your hands were shaking with useless energy, and you didn’t notice, but the stranger did, and he dug around in his bag until he took out another block of wood, and offered it to you with a knife.  
“What is that?” you asked, wary, even as you accepted, holding them like you’d watched. 

“Whittling,” he stated, and went back to carving his block up. Maybe he was trying to make something. You watched the movement of his knife, then began to mimic it, and, and it really did (slowly) make you feel better. Calmer. The motion was soothing. It meant you could replay the words he’d said, and not feel like hurting something.

A hundred swipes later, you finally responded, “I don’t- we don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t know where to go,” your hands hesitated on cutting into the wood again. If you did, you’d probably slash clean through, because you were angry. Angry that what you’d said was true. Angry that your life had been taken from you. You wanted to hurt, or scream, but instead, you forced yourself to carefully whittle more of the wood. It helped a little.

“Well. Do you have somewhere that meant something to you?” the man glanced up. You stared at him, then, slowly, set the wood down. Somewhere… that meant something to you. Somewhere…

A tug, at your memories. You yanked on something you didn’t remember, until it fell out, and then- _a boy. Sunshine outside, warm, at the playground, sand under shoes, your voice laughing. He has light hair and dark eyes and other kids make fun of him, they say he has the Devil’s eyes. But he’s your friend and you don’t care, he’s your friend, and you clamber up the steps of the slide as you wave at him and call his name, your voice in your throat, and-_ and then you remembered no more.

But you did remember a place. 

“Haddonfield,” you croaked, refocusing, your right eye aching. You rubbed a hand at your face, wiping some of the fresh blood from your nose off on your jacket, and staring intently at the man, “I have to go to Haddonfield.”

You didn’t wait for a reply. Clumsily, you handed him back the half mangled wooden block, and set the knife down, and then you stood up, an absent, “thank you,” before you went back to Laurie. The bus would be stopping in five minutes. You’d get off there. And then from there, you’d grab the next bus back towards Illinois, and after that, Haddonfield. A home.

As you made to get off the bus, the homeless man smiled at you. You knew you’d never see him again. Some instinct drove you to try and repay him for his kindness, but you didn’t have anything to give but your name. So that’s what you gave. 

“My name is Jodie.”

And as if he hadn’t given you enough, the stranger grinned wryly, and replied, “Been nice meeting you, Jodie. Name’s Shane.”

Off you stepped, Laurie’s hand in yours. You watched the bus drive away into the night, and you never saw Shane again.

“Come on, Laurie,” you whispered, nudging her a little, before clearing your throat, “We’re going to Haddonfield.”

 

 

The sleepy town of Haddonfield Illinois dominated the landscape, with red and gold of autumn, of brick and glass, traffic lights blinking for the few people still out so late, streetlights melting into a background of warm shadows. The sound of rumbling tires, as the bus pulled away, leaving you and Laurie to stand there on the sidewalk. Crickets trilled gently. Laurie yawned, tugging at your hand.

“I’m tired,” she nearly whined. She deserved to whine. You’d been on that bus for almost an entire day since you’d gotten onto it, but it was worth it, because you were finally here, in Haddonfield, you were…

Home. Maybe. 

Maybe. Because, you couldn’t tell if everything looked familiar, or if it had all changed, because the gaps in your memories were years large, and because you might’ve been only seven or eight when you’d left. It didn’t help that it was nighttime now. But, at the very least, you’d grown familiar with nighttime. So you nodded to Laurie, and steered the both of you down the sidewalk. This was, at least, something you could do. Find a motel, or find a house that was empty, and stay there for the night. It was the steps after that that you weren’t sure about. If you were going to stay, what would you do? What could you do? Find a job? That was what people did, right?

You slowly began to pass by houses, your eye searching each one for signs of vacancy. No motel tonight. You had to make the money last. Maybe you could find a house that no one would ever come back to, and wouldn’t that be good- it’d solve one problem, at least. 

Laurie sniffled. Searching for a house swapped to also looking for a drugstore. Laurie was sick, and it was cold, and you had to get her something. You didn’t know what. It didn’t matter; if she needed medicine, you’d get them all. 

“We’ll find somewhere, you know,” you assured, and promised, tugging the hat down more on her head, as your eye bore into buildings, picking them apart, whatever one was closest and then you could try and find a better one in the morning, when it wasn’t so cold, when you both weren’t so tired. 

You’d done a good job at ignoring how tired you were, so far. You could keep ignoring it, if you needed.

But maybe you were more tired than you realized, because you didn’t notice the two people walking towards you on the sidewalk until they were only a few bodies away. You blinked, then hunched over, bringing Laurie close to you, glaring at them. Laurie sniffled every few seconds, and your face was burned red from cold. Still, you probably looked intimidating enough that they’d cross the street and ignore you both. 

Except that they didn’t. They both walked closer, a man in a woman, dressed in nice clothes, both with light blond hair that blended with the streetlights, and both looking at the two of you with… sympathy? Pity was acrid, but that wasn’t pity, so you unhunched your shoulders by a hair, but kept your glare, just in case. Maybe they’d give you money. Some people did that, or they’d give you food. But a compassionate sympathy was new. And you didn’t trust things that you hadn’t seen before. So you kept glaring, still hoping they’d leave you both alone, but as they kept walking closer, that became more and more of a fever dream. 

When they were only a few steps away, they stopped. Silence drifted between both them and you. Laurie stared, unabashed, while you wondered when they’d leave. But finally, one of them spoke.

“Morgan,” the woman hissed quietly, elbowing the man. Her husband? Morgan blinked, and he looked a little sheepish, but mostly, concerned. 

“Hello there,” and his voice was surprisingly soft, for a man his size, as he greeted you both, “My name is Morgan Strode. This here is, well, my wife, Pamela. We noticed that… you’re both out here, and you look sick,” he confessed. You weren’t sure if he was talking about you or Laurie, or maybe both of you. His wife continued.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” and her eyes were sharp, because she must have noticed that you looked young, and Laurie looked even younger, and you were both out on the streets at whatever time, wearing dirty clothes, cold and tired. And maybe you _were_ tired; tired of feeling guilty, of lying and stealing, and running.

“No,” you said, “No, we don’t.”

Pamela and Morgan shared a look, and then a small smile grew on both of their faces, hesitant.

“Would you like to stay with us?” Morgan offered. 

Your first instinct was to scream a refusal, full of acid and bile, because trusting someone was the easiest way to get hurt. But then, you stopped. You looked over to Laurie. And you reminded yourself that you had a sister now, and you couldn’t just think for yourself, that your actions had consequences. Shane’s words bounced around in your head. 

“Ok.”

And then the four of you began to walk down the sidewalk, towards the Strode house, Pamela and Morgan politely making small talk, the winds not as cold as before. You wondered if this was what going home meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, too! I read every one of them, but usually don’t reply, since I’ve got stuff happening. But know that I appreciate them!


	4. Light Utility

Days rolled into weeks, that slow, almost languid progression of time, the sun dragging across the sky as it pulled along the long twilight hours between day and night. And too, wary caution found itself replaced by begrudging trust, hard won, as gradually, you found yourself growing more and more comfortable with the Strodes. Laurie eagerly gave her heart to them, as much as any one child could, and as the weeks were made into months, it seemed she had all but forgotten the past that had brought her here. Temporarily staying with the Strodes eventually evolved into _staying_ , and one day, it was made official, with forms and names and the permanent etch of pen signing it into stone. Jodie and Laurie became Jodie Strode and Laurie Strode, and as months were eaten by years, you let that wash of time envelope you too.

Years passed, since that night in Haddonfield, when you were first found- alone, afraid- and to everyone, it might as well have been a bad dream. Laurie never mentioned it, and so you assumed that she’d either forgotten entirely, or forgotten enough. No bad memories of scalpels and blood. 

Not you, though. Though time would try, you could never forget; parts of your memory consumed by icepick, that same icepick you always carried with you. You’d always remember fluorescent lights and the cries of the others down the hall, the smell of antiseptic. It was for the best that no one else did. Especially not Laurie. And if the Strodes never asked why you were on that street in the middle of the night in October, well… another reason you were grateful to be their family. 

Family. 

And, you _were_ family, too. You had the name for it and everything. Even after all these years, it still surprised you that you’d made it. 

But, as the years eventually turned into a decade, a feeling began to gnaw at your chest- the feeling that, it wasn’t quite over, that there was still one last trick that life would throw at the both of you. And so, that was where you were one day in October, the early morning rays of the sun nudging your eye, waiting for something you weren’t sure _was_. 

“Laurie!” you shouted, “Get up! You’re gonna be late!”

A few rooms over, there was the sound of a sudden ruckus, sheets being thrown around, followed by a startled, “What?” and Laurie threw open the door to her bedroom. Her hair was bedraggled, but her eyes were just as alert as ever- though a little sleepy. You turned your head from the window, and blinked.

“You’re gonna be late,” you repeated, before pausing and letting a mischievous smile onto your face, “late for breakfast. With your big sister,” you clarified, struggling with the words for a moment. Laurie didn’t mention it- she never did. Instead, she let out a noise that was a combined whine and disgruntled noise, but she was smiling too, good natured, rubbing her eyes.

“Cooking so early?” 

“You think that six is early,” you replied. Laurie retreated back to her room to start getting dressed for school, and meanwhile, you walked downstairs. There was a partially finished bowl of pancake mix, which was about the only thing you consistently remembered how to make. A grapefruit lay cut up at the side, expertly sliced into the shape of a flower. It was always good to keep practicing. You tucked hair behind your ear in an absent motion, exposing the patch over your right eye, only for it to fall back down again. You paused.

“Maybe I should get it cut,” you tugged at one strand, the white still stubbornly washing out any color from it despite the years- maybe that was brown underneath? You let the hair go, turning your attention back to the bowl. Eggs. A few minutes later, while you clunkily cracked a few eggs and managed to get one into the bowl, then stirred it together, roughly pouring the batter into the pan. While it slowly hissed away, you stared at it, letting your attention drift. 

_-want to play with the boy in the white house. It’s almost his birthday, because it was in October, and you want to ask him what he wants for it. His sister, Judith, answers the door. And she says, “Michael? I’ll-”_.

“Going to stare at those pancakes all day?” a voice asked. You blinked, the kitchen snapping back into focus, Laurie watching you. You quickly flipped the pancake over- only a little crispy- before turning to her. 

“Pancakes. Are serious business,” you intoned. Laurie snorted, and you smiled with her, the memory slipping away from you like sand through your fingers. Most of them were like that. You returned to the pancakes. Your fine motor control was still not the best, but it was good enough for a pancake. Pancakes didn’t care. 

“Michael’s birthday was in October,” you stated, sliding a pancake onto a plate. Laurie nodded. Ever since you’d started remembering the memories, you’d also started telling Laurie the information from them- because, you’d always forget. It helped when someone else knew it.

“Third time this month for Michael,” Laurie pointed out, taking the place of pancakes and going to sit down at the table. You blinked, finishing up the last of the batter, glancing over.

“Really?” you inquired, “What else?”

Laurie picked up her fork, looking to the upper right as she recalled, “His birthday month, his eye color- brown, and… pumpkins.”

You nodded, trying to commit those to memory again, try harder than last time. But, as you sat down next to Laurie, you awkwardly inclined your head, “Why, pumpkins?”

Laurie shrugged. You filed it away to try and dig out from your mind later, and instead, focused on holding the fork without your hand shaking. Pancakes passed in silence after that, just talking to one another. It was nice. But soon, the plates had to be set into the sink to be washed later, and you both had to get ready to leave. 

“Bag’s here,” you offered, gesturing to the bookbag by the door. Laurie smiled and thanked you, moving to grab it. Only for you to block her. She looked up at you, and you looked at, a sort of sibling communication passing between the two of you.

Laurie stepped back. You squared your shoulders. Then, Laurie rushed forward, trying to duck under your arms. You blocked her with your torso, moving to close your arms around her, and she just barely managed to get away from the attack hug and step back a little. A smile on your face, as you watched her very obviously feign going to the left before rushing the right, and you stopped her with a gentle closeline.

“Jodie,” Laurie complained, “Come on, I need to get going,” and you laughed, but stepped away, letting her grab her bag. She took it, putting it on her shoulder, and sighing, “You’re the only person who would make their sister fight to get a bag every morning.”

“It’s good for you,” you patted her shoulder, “Maybe. One day, you’ll beat me,” and you didn’t add that you felt… fidgety, at the idea that she wouldn’t know how to defend herself. Against anyone. If she refused to carry a knife around with her, at least she could know how to dodge and weave. It was just the smart thing to do.

“Don’t forget the keys,” you stuck your hands into a nearby bowl filled with keys, searching around until you plucked out a set of worn keys, labeled ‘Myers’ on one side, handing them to Laurie. She took them, putting them into a pocket, before looking back to you.

“When will Mom and Dad be home?” she asked. You wanted to say, ‘you know,’ but she was only trying to help you. So, you stared for a few moments, before rumbling.

“Half a week,” you remembered, feeling a little successful, before pitching your voice to be a little higher, “and no boys over while they’re on vacation!”

Laurie shot you a pointed look, and you grabbed your car keys from the bowl. Whatever flustered irritation she felt, she shook her head and walked out the door, while you followed, locking it behind yourself. In the driveway sat your prized possession, a Chevy LUV painted in a fading blue, white vinyl roof on top. From junkyard to your yard, and you loved it to bits. Working there was worth it.

“Need a ride?” you asked, walking down the steps beside Laurie. She fondly patted your car.

“Not today. I need to walk with Bobby Doyle,” she declined. You exhaled a little in disappointment, but nodded.

“Babysitting. On Halloween,” you opened the car door, hoping in with one movement, the familiar weight of the icepick in your coat pocket, along with your whittling knife. You gripped the leather of the steering wheel, still watching Laurie. Some part of you felt somber, for some reason you couldn’t explain. You cleared your throat.

“Sure you don’t need that ride?” you attempted again, trying to keep your tone from imploring. Laurie didn’t notice, or, more likely, she was nice enough not to mention it.

“I’ll see you after school,” she waved you off. And with that, she began walking down the street, towards the Myers house. You watched her go with that same feeling of vague unrest in your bones, before forcing your attention away. Hand on the shift, go into first, and drive. Time for work. Not for worrying.

But, just to be safe, you made sure to circle past Laurie once (or thrice) as she walked with Bobby Doyle. Finally, though, you pulled past the Myers house, to drive the rest of the way to work- and you couldn’t shift the odd feeling of eyes on your neck as you drove past. But that was nothing new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halloween is rolling around soon, hm? Stay safe out there everyone


End file.
